


turning in revolutions

by fiercynn



Series: The Gravity Series [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Related, Character of Color, F/F, Female Character of Color, First Time, Magic, OT4 Friendship, Plotty, Romance, Season/Series 01, Sexual Content, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-03
Updated: 2009-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiercynn/pseuds/fiercynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were so different. In moments of weakness, under the cloak of darkness, Gwen let her mask slide out of place; Morgana only drew it in tighter, taking a kind of refuge in secrecy that Gwen could neither understand nor approach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://fiercynn.livejournal.com/32721.html). Title from "Gravity" by Vienna Teng. Thanks to Scribe for the beta.

The week after Arthur recovered from the Questing Beast's attack, Morgana's nightmares became increasingly severe.

Unlike any that she had experienced before, there was nothing definite in the dreams, no people or places that she could even remotely identify – only misshapen forms and flashes of light followed by dense, inescapable darkness. Though she had no concrete reason for it, they filled her to the brim with an unspeakable fear that bubbled and boiled inside her until she woke up screaming more desperately than ever before.

"My lady," said Gwen, who had to be accustomed to these episodes, but who still looked drawn and anxious, "will you not tell me?" She stroked Morgana's hair as Morgana sobbed into her shoulder, but she could not tell.

She had always been reluctant to reveal her dreams to Gwen – pride, perhaps, or an adherence to noble stoicism that Morgana had to follow even with her closest friend. But those had never stopped her in the past with other secrets. And Morgana had to admit that it was not any of those reasons, because that kind of barrier did not exist between her and Gwen.

No, the chasm between lady and maid had been breached long ago, and that one fact meant Morgana had to admit her true aversion to telling Gwen now – because it was not only the dreams that she could not reveal but their prophetic nature. It had been hinted at in the past but never proven or confirmed, and Gwen had suffered so much from the suspicion of sorcery that ever since her father had died, Morgana could not find it in herself to subject her to anything out of the ordinary. A protective measure for both of them, perhaps – to keep Gwen out of any kind of harm, and to shield Morgana from the instinctive flicker of wariness and fear she would see in Gwen's eyes if she told.

As the days passed, the fears continued to simmer inside her, and she knew that she had to tell _someone_, even if there was nothing to tell except the threat of something unknown. Normally she would have gone to Gaius, but lately she had been feeling less and less secure in the way that Gaius treated her dreams – not from a lack of trust, but because he continued to insist that they were merely nightmares which could be cured. Morgana knew he must suspect _something_ at the very least, but Gaius was too restrained by the past, memories and inhibitions of the unnatural that had built up over the years.

There was one person that she thought she could trust, but every time she saw Merlin, he had a stiff, cold look on his face. There had been hard times for all of them, she knew, but Merlin's moods had started even before Arthur's brush with death. And there was no use trying to summon him; even Arthur couldn't keep track of his whereabouts all the time.

Finally she was able to catch him where he couldn't very well ignore her, walking alone down a hallway. "Merlin," she said. When he continued to walk she repeated, "_Merlin_," and he stopped, then turned abruptly towards her.

"Yes, my lady?" he said, his voice flat.

Morgana narrowed her eyes. In the daytime her nightmares seemed at least dulled by the sunlight, and after all, at least one recent horror had been averted – Arthur was alive and well, and despite the nameless feel that still drove her mad at night, that hope gave Morgana the resolve and need to confront this. "I need to speak with you in my chambers. Gwen is at the tailor's, so we may speak alone."

"I –"

"That is an order," she reminded.

He gave a quiet snort that she pointedly ignored, but he did follow her back, closing the door firmly behind him and turning to her, his face shuttered and blank.

"What is this all about, Merlin? This anger towards me?" said Morgana, imperious. "Have I done something to offend you?"

"I don't know what you mean, my lady."

"Don't play games, Merlin, there's too much at stake. Do you – no longer trust me?"

She saw his eyes widen slightly at that, a faint question playing on his face, but then he stiffened back into resentment. "I'm not sure why you need my trust, I'm just a lowly servant."

Morgana slammed her hand down on the table, and Merlin jerked back in surprise. "Damn it, Merlin, you're smarter than that. You must be aware that I - _know_ about you."

There had been no sudden realization, just a building up of impressions and irreconcilable facts that kept her observant and curious. The results of some of her dreams, the strange circumstances that surrounded Arthur's manservant – everything pointed to the answer, once she knew where to look.

Indeed, Merlin did seem resigned to her knowledge. "Well, _Morgana_," he said quietly, "all of that aside, tell me how I'm supposed to put my trust back in a would-be murderer."

Morgana's stomach dropped. That was a discovery she had not expected. She could not figure how, but the fact that someone else knew brought back in vivid colors the memory of what she had almost done. "That was for Gwen," she whispered.

"Because that's what Gwen would have wanted?" he snapped.

"Gwen does not think she is worth enough to deserve the things she wants."

"No, Gwen wouldn't want revenge because it wouldn't solve anything."

"Maybe it wouldn't solve everything, but it could help, you know it could," Morgana shot back. "It's not just Gwen's father – Uther is a tyrant and killing him would prevent further deaths. And revenge…would help me get over seeing Gwen bear so much grief." She took a deep breath. "Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same for someone you – for Arthur, or Gaius, or your mother."

Merlin looked at her sharply, and she wondered what other secrets he had hidden underneath his skin, how many forbidden thoughts tumbled inside him, longing to burst free. They were two of a kind, she and Merlin.

"Nonetheless, I didn't," Morgana said. "I wanted to, and I almost went through with it, but I didn't."

Merlin shook his head. "That's not good enough," he said quietly. "Not yet, anyway." He stalked off before she could say anything more, and she let out a huff of frustration.

She would have pressed further, eventually, or at least gone to Gaius with the problems, but after eight nights of repetition the nightmares ended as abruptly as they had started. Although they still nagged at her from somewhere in the back of her mind, she couldn't bring herself to confront them.

For now, Morgana slept in peace. It was another month before she had any more vivid dreams at all.

*

Since her father's death, Gwen had taken to spending her nights in the side room in Morgana's chambers. At first it had been a way to wean her back into sleeping alone, but after Morgana's dreams and Arthur's illness, it became too much to go back to a dark, empty home that reminded her of too many things.

Even nightly disturbances from Morgana were better than that, and Morgana had not objected yet to her sleeping there – had even encouraged her. Nothing could stem the grief that still came to Gwen at night, when all the shields of the day were finally let down, but the comforting presence nearby made Gwen feel safe, somehow, if not cured of sorrow. When Morgana had her first dream in a month, Gwen's first instinct was strangely close to relief, since it was a distraction that let her pour her energy into someone else.

"Morgana?" she said, hurrying into the room to put her arms around her mistress. Morgana was shuddering and sobbing in staccato gulps and Gwen could only murmur softly, stroking her hair and letting the tears soak into the shoulder of her own nightgown.

When Morgana had calmed down slightly, her head still cocooned in the hollow of Gwen's neck, she asked, "What was it this time?", as if Morgana ever told her the dreams. "Really, my lady, it'll help if you let it out. You can't keep this weight on you all the time."

Gwen could feel Morgana shake her head, and she bit her lip in frustration. Not only did it upset her that Morgana could not confide in her – it was also unsettling and unfamiliar. At first she had wondered if Morgana was trying to protect her, but more than once, the look of fear on Morgana's face made Gwen feel that it was more for herself than anything. There was something different about Morgana at night – the slightly mysterious, elusive qualities that only glimmered on her face during the day were heightened in the dark, keeping her utterly separate, and sometimes Gwen wondered if she even knew her.

They were so different. In moments of weakness, under the cloak of darkness, Gwen let her mask slide out of place; Morgana only drew it in tighter, taking a kind of refuge in secrecy that Gwen could neither understand nor approach.

"Please?" she whispered, letting the weakness slip out through her voice, as much for herself as for Morgana. These days Morgana was the only thing left that she could take care of, and she needed to keep her whole, complete.

Morgana let out a shaky breath that danced on Gwen's skin. "I – it doesn't make any sense," she said, softly.

"It doesn't have to," Gwen told her.

Morgana sighed again. "I was in a forest," she began, still hesitant. "It was all – in flashes, but I was in a clearing surrounded by tall, dark trees, and in the center of the clearing was a giant stone table. I was – tied up, I think, and a man brought a dagger to my throat and scraped me, whispering threats. There was a mark on his arm, a long line tattooed in blue ink – and for a moment that was all I could see, until the blue blurred into my vision and I awoke."

Gwen released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Though Morgana wouldn't meet her eyes, wouldn't let down all of her barriers, this was certainly a step. "It was only a dream."

"Not as bad as some," Morgana admitted. "Not even near the worst. But after some time, it becomes a burden."

"Well, my lady, now that you've told me, you won't have to think of them anymore."

Morgana gave a small smile. "That may be true," she admitted.

"See? You know that my advice always helps," Gwen teased. "That's what I'm here for."

Morgana just continued to look at her, her nighttime subtlety masking her emotions. And though there was simple gratefulness and affection, Gwen saw a tinge of something in her eyes that she could not define, something speculative and wild that made Gwen's breath catch.

"You should get some sleep," Morgana said, breaking Gwen's reverie. "I'm terrible, keeping you up all hours. You should sleep in tomorrow."

"I shouldn't, Morgana, and anyway, you know I don't mind."

"But I do," Morgana insisted. "You've been so – brave, and steady these past few months, and here I am burdening you with nameless, unreal fears. You deserve it."

Gwen couldn't argue any longer, though by the time she crawled back into bed, it took some time to get back to sleep.

*

True to her word, when Gwen woke at dawn Morgana was up already to wheedle her back into her bed. It was not too difficult since Gwen was apparently not a morning person – her muttered grumblings and bleary eyes made Morgana stifle a giggle, and the way her hair wisped around her face was a sight too adorable to be missed.

Morgana called another servant to bring them both breakfast in an hour, and dressed herself as Gwen slept. This was not a task that Gwen performed anyway, but usually she was there bustling around in the background, chatting as she cleaned the room and folded Morgana's clothing. The silence was a little strange, and Morgana found herself humming a song that Gwen used to sing to her years ago when she was too afraid to go to sleep. Gwen didn't sing as much anymore.

The solitude also gave Morgana a chance to think about the dream again. She wondered from whose perspective she had seen the man – usually she was an observer in the dreams, never involved, and it would have been good to warn whoever was about to be threatened. Perhaps if she had the nightmare again – horrible as that would be, it might give her more clues.

Gwen emerged from the side chamber some time after the breakfast arrived. She looked sheepish but rested so Morgana considered herself satisfied. "Morgana, you shouldn't –"

"Shush," Morgana ordered, "eat." And Gwen did look grateful, even if she wouldn't admit it.

After breakfast routine fell back into place for some time, as Gwen went through her ordinary chores with a little less meticulous attention than usual and Morgana looked over records of commerce in the Camelot markets that Uther sometimes gave her to examine. Afterwards there was a knighting ceremony, then preparations for the next diplomatic mission which Morgana had to attend, then lunch with Uther. By afternoon she was itching for something else to do, and when Gwen returned from washing her clothes, she immediately noticed Morgana's mood.

"Shall we take a short ride, my lady?" she suggested lightly, and Morgana couldn't help but smile. Gwen knew her too well.

They changed into riding clothes and took the horses into the woods outside the Camelot walls, not too far but enough that Morgana felt herself relax. There was a kind of exhilaration in being at least somewhere less safe and protected than the castle, but it was still tempered by Gwen's comforting and familiar presence.

"What shall we do today?" she said when they had found a clearing and tied the horses up.

"I think I'd like to continue working on falling and throws," replied Gwen. Morgana nodded. She couldn't remember when this ritual had started, coming out to the woods to practice sparring. Originally it had been purely a way for Morgana to release her pent-up energy, especially after Uther had stopped Morgana's archery and fencing lessons when she was sixteen, but lately it had become more and more a benefit for Gwen. They both had some experience with staff work and Gwen knew weapons inside and out, even if she hadn't received formal training, but hand-to-hand was still difficult for her, and Morgana was trying to teach her all of her own limited knowledge.

They practiced falling to warm up, the blanket of moss helping to soften the ground for their slapping and rolling. "This almost feels like cheating," Gwen told her, "it's too comfortable."

"And that's a complaint?" said Morgana, smiling. "Let's try the throw."

Gwen had been having a hard time using her opponent's weight and momentum to her advantage, and though her form was mostly correct, she still struggled to master the throw that Morgana was trying to teach her. Morgana had been thrilled when she'd first learned at age fourteen, but she knew the frustration of trying over and over against someone bigger and stronger.

They got into their ready positions, facing each other, and Gwen moved to take Morgana's arm and twisted, turning Morgana around and trying to lift her with her back and flip Morgana from behind her over her shoulder. Gwen moved too slowly, however, and she wasn't able to complete the move because of the lack of momentum. She let Morgana slid back to her feet as she gave an irritated sigh.

"You've almost got it," Morgana assured. "You need to stop thinking so much and move a little more quickly. Let your body feel it, and not in your strength, but in your agility."

Gwen bit her lip and nodded. They readied themselves again. This time Gwen did not narrow her eyes in concentration; she closed them for a moment, relaxing herself, and then opened them before beginning the maneuver. She moved rapidly, twisting and turning smoothly, and Morgana found herself flying forward over Gwen's shoulder as Gwen pulled her own weight against her.

But as she landed on her back and slapped the ground to minimize the blow, Gwen was still moving forward from the momentum, and she slipped on the moss to tumble on top of Morgana, taking the wind out of them both.

"Sorry," Gwen gasped. They lay for a moment, catching their breath. Gwen was warm and her fluttering breaths tickled Morgana's neck in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant, despite the fall.

"No, that was excellent," said Morgana when she could speak again. "Although I should have known there was a catch with the moss being so comfortable."

Gwen lifted her head and smiled, her face lighting up. Then her expression wavered slightly and she sat up, fussing with the twigs on her shirt and looking at Morgana shyly, out of the corner of her eye.

Morgana watched her, bemused. She knew that Gwen had her awkward, uncertain moments quite often, but it was very rarely with Morgana, and although that showed the level of familiarity and ease in their friendship, sometimes Morgana wished for a change in that relationship, wished – well. Morgana had her responsibilities, and Gwen's friendship was certainly too precious to lose. Besides, there was no way that she could take advantage of her position as Gwen's mistress, because even after they had been together for so many years, Gwen still thought of herself as something less than she was. As Morgana had told Merlin, Gwen didn't think she deserved the things that she wanted or needed, and she would do anything for Morgana if asked, but there were some things that Morgana desired for Gwen's sake as much as her own – and only if Gwen truly wanted them enough to ask herself.

Still. She felt a slight thrill from seeing Gwen caught off her guard and even a little embarrassed, though Morgana could not figure why. She wished she knew.

"Shall we try again?" she said, sitting up as well. Gwen nodded, and they stood up to continue.

By the time they returned to the castle, dusk was settling in. Morgana realized that in taking care of Gwen and relieving the frustrations of the day, she had all but forgotten her nightmare. She still wondered why it had come on the heels of the unknown, undefined fears of the previous dreams, but although it was still just as frightening, the new one was at least a little more concrete. Perhaps it would return again that night.

After bathing and then dining with Uther, Morgana read in her chambers as Gwen mended a ripped dress. Eventually Morgana retired for the night, weary but content. Let the dangers of the night come, she thought defiantly. She could face them, however terrifying.

*

When Gwen awoke that night, it was not to the sound of Morgana screaming, but to a low rustle in the next room and an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She rose, straining her ears to listen – Morgana did not usually mind making too much noise in her own room even at night, though it was possible that that she was trying not to wake Gwen now that she was sleeping in Morgana's chambers so regularly. Still, there was something surreptitious about the sounds, and Gwen's fears were confirmed when she heard the low voice that was undoubtedly not Morgana's. She crept closer to the door and tried to peer into Morgana's room.

A man was standing over Morgana in her bed, a candle in one hand. Gwen's heart clenched at the sight of Morgana's white face. The man was talking, his voice hurried and threatening, and Gwen immediately began to survey the room for the closest weapon – two, preferably, so that she could toss one to Morgana. Though Uther forbade Morgana from keeping any of the swords she had trained with before, Gwen had been sneaking blades made by her father into the room for years, at Morgana's request. There were daggers hidden in two of the empty vases, though both were on the other side of the room, and Gwen knew there was an old rapier strapped to the frame of the canopy of Morgana's bed, but of course retrieving it was out of the question now.

She was searching quickly for other dangerous objects when she glanced back at the man and stifled a gasp. He had shifted, and Gwen could see now that the candle he held was not flickering naturally but glowing with a steady light, and the flame itself was an unearthly green.

He was a sorcerer, then. Gwen went cold at the thought – here it was again, this haunting curse that she could not seem to escape, the whisper of magic hurting herself and those she loved best whenever it appeared. She was helpless against any such thing, and Morgana was as well, which frightened her more than she could say.

She stood, frozen, as the man turned to rummage through a box on top of Morgana's dressers, still watching her sideways as she nodded her assent. Gwen knew she should do something, but panic was rising inside of her, and she didn't know what might end up causing Morgana harm – clearly the man didn't even know that there was anyone else in these chambers, and perhaps that was her advantage. There was another door in Gwen's part of the rooms leading out to the servant's passage, though Gwen rarely used it; perhaps she should get help. She could not tear herself away, though, afraid to let Morgana out of her sight.

The man came up with something in his hand, and as he turned back to Morgana, Gwen noticed two startling things in quick succession. Firstly, he held a bright yellow stone that, too, had an unnatural glow to it, and Gwen wondered what it was and why Morgana owned it. But at the same time, as he raised his hand part of his sleeve slid down to his elbow and in the bright glow of the magicked candle, Gwen could see a dark ribbon of ink snaking its way along his arm.

Gwen's eyes widened, but before she could even make anything of it, the man grabbed Morgana's wrist She lashed out, crying, "No! You have what you want –"

"Not everything," said the man grimly, and with a twist of his arm and a spatter of incomprehensible words he vanished, taking Morgana with him so easily that the sheets of her bed were barely ruffled.

Gwen screamed, and, half-blind with tears of fear and anger at herself, she rushed through Morgana's room into the main corridor. "Help! Someone help!"

Within seconds a guard with a torch had rounded the corner, saying, "My lady?" in a worried voice before stopping at the sight of Gwen.

"The lady Morgana," she managed to get out, "captured – a sorcerer sneaked into the room –"

The next moments went by in a blur as the alarm was sounded and guards rushed into Morgana's room, searching, and Gwen could do nothing but lean against the wall to keep herself upright. The next thing she knew, Uther was there, striding down the hall towards her with a look of fury on his face as one of his lieutenants tried to keep up and explain the situation.

"What did you see?" he thundered.

She opened her mouth to let the rush of words flow out, but abruptly, something inside her stilled. The image of the stone in the sorcerer's hand and the pattern on his arm flashed in her mind, throwing out a further significance there, involving Morgana – and somehow Gwen knew that to let Uther know of any connection of her suspicions would be disastrous.

"_Guinevere_," Uther gritted out. "What did you _see_?"

"A man," she said finally. "Hooded – his cloak was dark, and I couldn't see his face. I didn't see much at all, your highness – he grabbed my lady's arm and vanished with her before I could even cry out at his presence." She bowed her head, breathing hard.

Uther closed his eyes for a brief moment, frustrated, then he swept away, barking out orders to his soldiers.

Gwen waited against the wall, her mind racing. Now that she had lied to the king, what did she think she could do? What did her suspicions even mean? The marks on the sorcerer's arm – that was undoubtedly what Morgana's dream the night before had shown her, and Gwen did not know how to contend with that fact, the possible truths hidden in it. Perhaps sorcerers could send dreams to certain people. But why would the sorcerer have hinted anything about himself, especially when the dream had not included any explicit clues or threats?

And then there was the stone, and the fact that Morgana's voice had betrayed certain knowledge of what was happening that Gwen couldn't begin to understand. Somehow that disturbed her more than the idea of the true dream, and something familiar nagged at the back of her mind. The stone – small, glowing, ethereal and clearly filled with magic –

The memory of hands around her mouth and head flashed in her mind, and she gave an instinctive shudder. Tauren had spoken of a stone. He had left it in Camelot and wanted Gwen to bring it back. How did Morgana come to have it? Unless he had recovered it and Morgana had taken it when she had killed him – but then how had it come back to him before, and why would Morgana want it anyway? Gwen felt dizzy. This was all too much, the collision of horrors in her mind and memory, and she had to lean her forehead against the cool stone of the wall to calm herself.

There weren't many people that Gwen could trust to handle insinuations of magic and lies well, and Morgana was one of them. The other was most likely asleep in his bed, blissfully ignorant of the situation, at least until the alarm bell sounded. Taking another deep breath to strengthen her resolve, she hurried down the hallway towards Gaius' chambers.

*

When the sorcerer's hand wrapped around her arm, Morgana had been whisked away, her vision a blur as she spun through the air. Within moments she was jolted back to reality, landing with a thump in a wood where three other men stood, the sorcerer's hand still clamped to her. He was breathing heavily, and as she tried to jump up to beat at him, the other men caught her arms and swiftly tied her up.

"This is –" she started, furious, before a tall, dark-haired fellow forced a cloth into her mouth to gag her. She shook her head wildly.

"Now, now," said the one who had kidnapped her, standing up. "Be still, my lady, and this will be easier."

"Brogan, we will have to ride from here," said one of the others to the sorcerer.

"Callum, we need transport," Brogan said. "Can we not all work together?"

"My strength is sapped," the other magician admitted. "Helping you enter the castle was much more difficult than we had anticipated. They've sounded the alarm already, and we cannot wait for our strength to regain."

Brogan shot her a swift glance, and indeed, Morgana could faintly hear the warning bell of Camelot. They were not yet far from the castle, then, and her disappearance had been noticed quickly.

She struggled against the bonds as the men their plan discussed in low voices. Finally, Brogan came back over to her and frowned. "I cannot have you fighting me for the ride, Lady Morgana. Sleep." He put a hand onto her forehead; she tried to move out of the way, but he muttered some words and despite her will, she felt her eyes close and everything went dark.

*

By the time Gwen reached the court physician's wing, the warning bell was indeed pounding out and Gaius and Merlin were rousing themselves from sleep.

"Gwen?" said Merlin, yawning even as he reached out in worry.

"It's Morgana – she's been kidnapped, right in front of my eyes, by a sorcerer," she blurted.

"Does Uther know?" said Gaius, standing hurriedly.

"Yes – but I couldn't tell him everything." Taking a deep breath, she let out the whole story in a fierce rush. When she reached Morgana's dream and its relation to life, she could tell that Merlin and Gaius were trying not to look at each other, fueling her suspicion.

"Could the sorcerer have sent her the nightmare himself?" she asked nonetheless.

"It is possible," said Gaius doubtfully, "though I don't know why anyone would do such a thing." He frowned. "Did the sorcerer seem to want anything in particular, or just the lady Morgana?"

Gwen let the dream go for a moment and nodded. When she described the stone, Merlin shifted quite obviously, and Gaius threw him a sharp look.

"It's Tauren's stone, isn't it?" she said after a moment of silence.

Merlin looked surprised that she would even know about such things. "I think so," he said. "Which means that these must be Tauren's fellow renegade sorcerers, right, Gaius?"

"Most probably."

"I understand why they would want the stone if it were here – or if they wanted to kidnap Morgana for revenge – but I don't see how the two relate," Gwen admitted.

Again, Merlin looked shifty, and Gwen couldn't help but feel angry. This was no time for secrets – Morgana had been _kidnapped_, and if they were right, then they were Morgana's only hope.

"It may not matter," Gaius put in. He sighed. "I must go to the king. I will try to advise him as much as possible without giving too much away."

"And I'll go try to find out more information on Tauren's former band," said Merlin, also standing. "Gwen, you should rest a while, sleep in my room."

Gwen opened her mouth to protest, but suddenly the idea of a bed sounded like all she could manage. She nodded. Merlin put out a hand to grasp her shoulder, comforting, then he and Gaius left, and it was all Gwen could do to stumble into Merlin's quarters and collapse into the bed.

The sun had barely risen when Gwen awoke, still tired but too fiercely determined to keep sleeping. She left Merlin's room and found that Merlin and Gaius had returned.

"What is being done?"

"Oh good, you're awake," said Merlin.

"Has anything happened?" Gwen demanded. "You should have woken –"

"No," Gaius assured, if such an answer could truly be reassuring. "Uther has sent out the first flank of knights, but they don't have much direction, unfortunately."

"Neither do we," Merlin added. "The renegades are said to be powerful enough to transport themselves at least three miles in one go, which gives us a large range already – and that's only the starting point, assuming her kidnapper met up with others who had horses."

Gwen's heart sank. "Will all the knights of Camelot be enough to scour such a territory?" she said, though she knew the answer herself.

Gaius didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward, peering at her. "Gwen," he said carefully. "Did Morgana describe the remainder of her last nightmare to you?"

"Yes," said Gwen, "but why would that be important?"

"I fear – and have for some time, I must admit – that the lady Morgana has the seer's gift," said Gaius heavily.

Despite her feelings about magic, Gwen's instinctive reaction was a rush of fear not for herself, but for Morgana, for the fate she might encounter at the hands of Uther. Her next thought was to deny it vehemently – she knew Morgana, knew her better than anyone else did – there could not be this hidden side to her, especially not relating to a danger, like magic, that had brought them all so much pain.

"No," she found herself saying. "No, she can't, I would know –"

"It is doubtful that even Morgana herself knows the full extent of her powers," Gaius said gently. "And perhaps she knew how much the idea could hurt you." Beside him, Merlin nodded somberly. It explained the conspiratorial glances, at least.

Gwen shook her head again, but she couldn't help a little voice inside her beginning to murmur that maybe it was true.

"Gwen," said Merlin, worried but insistent. "I know what this means, but if we're to help Morgana, we need to move as fast as we can. Is there anything she mentioned that could help?"

"The man with the blue markings," she said, "and a giant stone table in the middle of a clearing. Other than that, no. That doesn't help, does it."

Gaius frowned. "If only it were that simple, that Morgana's dreams would give us directions to her whereabouts."

Merlin shook his head and stood up, beginning to pace around the workshop. "There has to be a way," he muttered. "There must…" His gaze shot up to meet Gaius' eyes. "The stone! If I could feel –"

"But would you be able to, from this far?" said Gaius after a moment, puzzling. "The traces –"

"I'm sure there's something I could find."

"Do you remember what it felt like after all this time?"

"Maybe not, but –"

Gwen threw her hands up. "Will someone fill me in, or are you going to continue speaking in half-sentences?"

They both looked at her guiltily, then back at each other. Gaius quirked an eyebrow and Merlin nodded, seemingly coming to a decision.

Merlin turned and gave her a wry, somehow bitter smile. "This is not the way I wanted to do this, but there's no time so this may just be a day of revelations," he said. "Gwen, I don't know how to tell you this, especially with everything that's happened with your family, but –"

And suddenly he didn't have to tell her anything – like Morgana, it was as if she had known for some time, in the back of her head, and it had never needed to come to the front of her mind because that was too close, too dangerous and harmful. "Oh," she said, and Merlin shut his mouth quickly. "_Oh_."

"Gwen?"

"You –" She burst out laughing, unexpectedly, the craziness and chaos of the night catching up with her in this ridiculous, horrible situation. Gaius and Merlin looked worried, and her laughs sounded desperate even to her. "Oh, don't even tell me, I don't want to know," she said when she had caught her breath. "I don't think I want to have this talk again. I have enough trouble with such conversations as it is."

Merlin's face broke out into a smile. Gwen was somehow surprised to see there was no sudden transformation, and he still looked the same – he was still _Merlin_, her friend, someone she trusted and cared for, and who had helped her as much as she had helped him. At the moment, in this state of rapid-fire decisions and disregard for consequences, the differences didn't matter.

"Well," she said, "how exactly are we going to explain all of this to Arthur?"

*

Morgana awoke to bright sunlight. She squinted to see the renegades around her, dismounting from their horses. Brogan was in front, having just awoken her, and he lifted her off the horse.

"This is not our final destination," he told her as he helped her sit down near a tree and untied the gag. "Only a break from riding all night."

"And what is our destination?" Morgana spit out, then coughed, trying to clear her mouth and throat. "Do you need a special place to kill me or hold me for ransom?"

Brogan laughed. "Is that what you thought, my lady? Naturally, Tauren was indeed driven by the thought of gold and regicide, which was why our band split in half before his expedition into Camelot. Quite fortunate for my people, in the end." Brogan rummaged in his pack for bread and cheese, and he quickly tied Morgana to the tree so that he could release her hands. Her hunger kept from arguing. After she had finished, she looked up to see Brogan watching her.

"Then what do you desire from the king?" Morgana said, angry but also curious. She could not think of a single reason that these men would want to keep her besides revenge.

"Oh no, our business is with you."

"With me?"

"We have heard of your gifts, Lady Morgana," he said.

Morgana swallowed. "What gifts, precisely?"

"Your prophetic dreams – nightmares, they are called by many, but that is only because the truth can be so frightening. And not only do your dreams tell you of calamity and disaster, but according to our sources in Camelot, they are always about magic. That is our business."

Morgana thought of lying about the dreams, but something told her that it was no use. "So you have kidnapped me to keep my information away from the king?"

"That is a welcome benefit," Brogan agreed. "But we have a deeper motive." He was still looking hard at her, his eyes sharp and speculative. "Your dreams may affect us, and we want that knowledge as well. And from what we understand, there are some dreams that you are not yet able to interpret in any way."

"Yes," Morgana admitted. Even if her ordinary nightmares were confusing, the unspeakable vague dreams eluded her even further.

"We can help with that. The place we are taking you will explain everything." Brogan's voice sounded almost comforting. "It will lift a burden from your mind, and it will help us as well. Mutually beneficial, you see."

He leaned in towards her. "There is a storm coming," he said, making Morgana shiver, his voice low and tense, "and you, my Lady Morgana, are to be our oracle."

*

"You," said Arthur, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before blinking and looking at Merlin and Gwen again, "what?"

Merlin said, "We think we know how to find Morgana, but we can't go to the king. And your knights won't be able to do this alone."

Arthur sighed. He looked exhausted. "You didn't need to tell me that," he said. "This is a hopeless search anyway, given we're searching for magicians with absolutely no clue as to their identity or direction, it's – wait. You know how to find her?"

"Yes," said Gwen.

"How?"

Merlin took a deep breath. "That's the problem. We, um. Can't tell you."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced between them. "Excuse me?" he said finally, his voice soft and dangerous.

Merlin opened his mouth again, but Gwen spoke first. "Sire," she said, knowing that she looked as bad as she felt, and trying to convey that the need for urgency far outweighed any other considerations. "It's too difficult to explain, and if we're to save her, we need you to trust us. _Please_."

Arthur considered her, his face unreadable. They all had their different ways of talking to him and persuading him: Morgana teased and goaded, Merlin argued, but Gwen – Arthur listened to Gwen. She didn't quite know why, except perhaps he realized that since she so rarely asked for anything, her requests mattered that much more.

"You can't expect me to explain this to my father," said Arthur quietly.

Merlin let his breath out in a puff of relief. "Which is why we should leave now." Arthur gave a short nod.

They readied themselves rapidly, Gaius packing food and medicines for them, and before Gwen knew it they were at the gates with horses fully saddled. The guards looked worried as they trotted through, but Arthur held his head up high, radiating certainty and conviction, and communication now was in such disarray that no one could know this hadn't been sanctioned by the king.

They rode with Merlin leading and every so often he stopped ahead and looked surreptitiously at his palms. Gwen had not watched him perform the spell – it was still too soon and too close for her to face the prospect of magic – but apparently he had a feel for the stone, especially when it was used, and he was able to charm his hands to respond to the direction in which they went. It wasn't the most efficient way of traveling, but it was the best they could do with the current situation and trying to keep Arthur from finding out.

Where the path was wide enough, Arthur rode up alongside Gwen, every so often giving her thoughtful looks that she tried to ignore.

"Do you know where we're going, then?" said Arthur conversationally after some time.

"Not exactly, sire."

"Ah. And you're willing to just trust that we're going the right way?"

"It seems the only choice."

"Does Merlin know? Or was it some hint from Morgana before she was taken?"

"Arthur –"

He shot her a startled glance then, because while Merlin could call him that and Gwen could let herself say her mistress' name, she had never taken that kind of liberty with the prince, no matter what kind of understanding existed between them. "I mean – oh, I shouldn't call you that, I'm so sorry, I meant, sire –"

She stopped because Arthur was chuckling, his eyes bloodshot and just a little wild but his face relaxing. "Given that I'm letting you and Merlin lead me blindly through the forest on what is likely a wild goose chase to find Morgana, I might not even deserve the title," he remarked with another snort, and left it at that.

They rode on between the tall, dark trees, silent except for the sounds of the forest and the snorts of the horses, trying to keep their minds blank and their path steady, until the light that filtered through the leaves began to dim.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

The day that Morgana’s father died was deceivingly bright and beautiful. She had been sitting and reading a letter from her cousin, looking out the window every few minutes and itching to run around outside, when the news came to her by way of messenger. It was so different from what she’d been thinking of, so jarring that although she was ten and old enough to understand such things, the words had made no sense to her and she had answered with a nonchalant, “Oh, alright.”

The servant had swallowed and tried again, and then Morgana turned and saw the look in his eyes, and dropped her sewing. It took one more try for her to begin crying as the servant looked around awkwardly for anyone who could comfort her.

There was no one, really. Morgana’s mother had died when she was three, and she had been brought up on their fief by her father’s youngest sister. But a few months earlier her aunt had married, and her father brought her to court with him because he did not trust her care to anyone else.

That afternoon, maids came to dress her in black and brush her hair so that she could be presented to the king. She let them do whatever they wanted, not caring about anything very much until she was in front of Uther Pendragon and staring up at him. She had met the king frequently, and though he and her father had been friends, she had never felt any affection for him or his casual acknowledgment of her existence.

Now, though, there was a real sorrow in his eyes, and one small part inside Morgana rose up to meet that sorrow and clasp its hand. It at least made his words more believable.

“I am so sorry, my child,” said the king. “I loved your father well. You will always be safe and protected here.”

He seemed to be unable to let go of any more sympathy, however much he may have felt it, and the maids bustled her off again to new quarters.

*

The following week was one of numbness, cold daylight streaming through the beautiful windows of the new room. Morgana’s sheets were softer, her dresses were finer, and the various maids that waited on her each day attended to her every need, but she barely noticed. Days went by in a blur. Most of the time she slept, and the rest, she could not even remember.

When the week was over, the king summoned her again. “It is time for you to get up,” he informed her. He held himself stiffly but his eyes looked tired; Morgana had forgotten (or tried not to remember) that there was still a war being waged.

“To do what?” she said, defiant but for the hoarseness of her voice.

Uther looked surprised. “What all young girls of the court do. You shall have lessons in etiquette, dancing, singing, sewing, drawing,” he saw the frown on her face and almost _floundered_, startling Morgana, “in, whatever you wish. There will be governesses. As many as you desire.”

Morgana was too puzzled by the king and too annoyed by the idea of lessons to argue.

After a week of pricked fingers, a sore throat, and twelve different types of curtseys, Morgana made her first request. She hadn’t known quite how to put it, but her father and aunt had always told her stories, tales of the past that may or may not have been true, and the way they connected interested her far more than any of the embroidery.

“History,” said Uther, giving a nod. “Very well. You may as well practice your reading and writing, and it is not useless to have some understanding of our past.”

History turned out to be often tedious but sometimes exciting and filled with grandeur. At first Morgana flinched to hear of war and conflict, trying not to imagine the battlefields, but she found that she could make enough of a story out of it that it did not seem too close. She asked for more instructions: lessons of counting and money, herb lore with the court physician, cooking from the castle chefs - to all of these, Uther acquiesced, no matter how much he scowled or wavered at the impropriety of it all.

But it was not enough to get the itch out of Morgana. Lessons still left her restless, not to mention lonely, at the end of the day when the stories and lessons faded back into reality. And – there was a temptation within her to push at the limits, to test how far Uther would let her go before he started treating her less like a doll and more like a person.

Beyond all that, there was her father to remember. The itch of solitude left her thinking of him more often than she wanted to, in ways that made her feel even more useless and alone.

*

“I want to learn fencing,” Morgana said.

Uther’s eyes narrowed, his jaw set. “No.”

It was the first time he had outright refused her anything. “Why not?” she demanded.

“It’s not proper for a young girl,” Uther said. “Any girl. It is dangerous and useless, and you will be too weak anyway. I will spare you that pain.”

“But I want to try,” Morgana argued. “I can learn to be strong, and you said you would let me have lessons in whatever I wish –”

“No,” Uther said, his voice suddenly harsh and stern. “I will not allow it. You are just a child, and you do not know what is good for you. _Do you understand_?”

Morgana stared back defiantly. A small part of her was pleased at reaching the king’s breaking point, but it wasn’t much of a consolation. She didn’t fear Uther but she didn’t know how to go against that implacable will. Everything inside her raged against it, bubbling up to the surface, but before she could fight back she was escorted roughly back to her room.

She stood for a moment once the guards had left her, fuming, clenching and unclenching her fists before spinning around to snatch a blue vase from her dresser that she aimed to throw to the ground –

“Oh!” said a startled voice from the door.

It was one of her maids – Morgana had many and she barely noticed them, so she didn’t know her name. She was probably only few years older than Morgana herself, and she looked rather shocked at the scene in front of her. “What?” Morgana snapped.

“Not _that_ vase,” the maid blurted, then looked embarrassed. “I mean, I’m sorry, my lady, it’s not my place to speak, I just thought – I had planned to bring you some flowers from the west garden and this color is so lovely –”

Morgana stared at her, petulance warring with a sudden confusion by this maid and her stuttering. “But I want to break it,” she said, trying not to consider how silly it sounded.

“Can you break this one instead, my lady?” the maid ventured, handing her an ugly brown bowl and looking at her encouragingly.

Morgana took the bowl and stared at it, the anger seeping out of her. She sank onto her bed, frowning. “I do rather hate that bowl,” she admitted, and then suddenly it was all too much, the energy of keeping up defiance for the sake of it and the fact that it wouldn’t help, wouldn’t help _anything_; there was still the pull of loneliness and inevitability that drew her too far down into the ground. She blinked and tears burned up in her eyes. It was the first time she had cried since – that _day_ –

“Oh, no no no, my _lady_,” said the maid, coming forward quickly to put her arms around Morgana, and she didn’t even pull away, just cried harder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, stroking Morgana’s back as she shuddered and wept and let herself be held.

When the sobbing had lessened, the maid moved slightly to sit on the bed next to her, an arm still around Morgana’s shoulder. “If the vase causes that much trouble, maybe it deserves to be broken,” she said, frowning at it.

Morgana choked out a laugh and let herself lean into the older girl even more.

“What’s your name?” she asked after a moment.

“Gwen – Guinevere, I mean, but everyone calls me Gwen.”

“I – thank you,” Morgana whispered, sniffing.

Gwen smiled at her, sweet and reassuring, and Morgana couldn’t help but smile back.

Gwen began to clean up the mess in the room, chatting all the while, and when she was finished she went to fetch flowers for the still-intact vase. By the time she left that night, Morgana realized that she had not felt so relaxed and comfortable for – _weeks_ – as she had that afternoon.

Throughout the next few days she began to notice Gwen’s presence more, among the other maids that came to clean her room, and Gwen would always smile at her as if they had a special connection, that they knew something that the others didn’t. Morgana was unused to servants treating her so familiarly, but though it should seem an impertinence, she found that, somehow, she didn’t mind.

The next time Uther called for her, she did not speak to him even when he asked her about her studies, standing sullenly as he frowned, spoke sternly, and even shouted. Eventually he stopped and considered her for some minutes. She refused to wither under his stare.

“They say you cannot teach a child to fear fire until they have been burned,” he remarked finally. “Very well. You may begin fencing lessons tomorrow alongside Arthur.”

Morgana wanted to argue – she had only met the eight-year-old brat a few times, considering how isolated she was, and they had taken an immediate dislike to each other – but given the concession, she might as well take it with all its trappings. “Thank you,” she said instead, and Uther waved a hand dismissively.

“Sire –” she said as he began to turn away.

“_What_,” he snapped, just as exasperated as her father had ever been when she was this stubborn. It almost made Morgana like the king more.

“One of the maids who tends my room – Guinevere – she is very helpful,” Morgana managed. “I would like it if she could become my personal maid. Sire.”

This was almost her way of backing down, the hesitancy and timidity of the simple request. It did seem to mollify Uther, even though she was still asking for something. “Very well,” he said again, “I will see it is done.”

*

After that, the plethora of faceless maids trickled out until only Gwen was left. It was Gwen who arrived to help her prepare each afternoon for her fencing lessons, and Gwen who was there when she returned, aching and cranky from the repetitive, mind-numbing drills that the instructor made her practice. Although she was ostensibly learning alongside Arthur, he had been fighting for a few years already and worked separately, and the instructors maintained that she had to become stronger and more limber before she could even touch a staff. After two weeks of strengthening exercises, she was finally allowed to learn stances, and a week later was given her first wooden practice sword – but she had to spend the next three days working only on _grips_.

“It’s so much more boring than I thought it would be,” she complained as Gwen attempted to untangle her hair. Her fingers were gentle and soft as they wove through, seeking out the knots.

“When my father tells me about his youth, he always mentions that when he was learning his trade, the master blacksmith would not let him touch a single tool but the bellows for the first month,” Gwen said. “He first had to understand everything about tending fire and heat before he could move on.”

Something inside Morgana still stiffened every time Gwen mentioned her father, though she was careful not to show it. “What was it like for him, growing up?” she made herself ask.

And Gwen told her what she knew, stories of her father as a curious young boy and an impetuous apprentice, and later a loving husband. Morgana listened and tried not to wonder what kinds of stories there were about her father, if she had turned out anything like he had been as a child.

*

Once another two weeks had passed, Morgana had her first sparring session with Arthur.

It was a disaster. They had fought for minutes, Morgana struggling to remember the movements that she had practiced, but Arthur had not even needed to touch her body with his wooden sword or hurt her in any way before knocking hers out of her hand. When she conceded the victory, Arthur looked smug and their instructor was frowning, but the most infuriating part was the lack of surprise on both of their faces.

That night Morgana cried again, tears of frustration, anger, and grief. Gwen tried to comfort her, of course, but she shied away. It all seemed so useless; she couldn’t keep her mind from picturing the fight over and over, but it wasn’t only her and the prince, sometimes it was her father who was losing to an enemy that looked just as satisfied and gloating at his victory.

She cried herself into a restless sleep, and the next morning when Gwen came in to assist her, she refused.  
“My lady?”

“I don’t want to fight any more,” Morgana said flatly.

Gwen started forward, saying, “No!” then bit her lip but continued nonetheless. “My lady, you can’t quit.”

“I’m not _quitting_!” Morgana yelled, and tried not to flinch at the hurt look in Gwen’s eyes. “I lost to that _boy_. If it were actually a battle he could have killed me, and every time I think about it, I see my – how would you understand?” She turned away. “Leave me,” she said, her voice cold.

For the first time, Gwen disobeyed her.

“I know it must be difficult,” she said gently. “And I can’t understand what you feel. My mother died when I was only four years old, and I have always been very fortunate and happy, in my own way.”

She came around to face Morgana, kneeling in front of her. “But you are brave, my lady,” she said, “braver than I could ever be. I admire that so much in you. And – this is a way that you can be brave despite what anyone else wants you to be.”

Gwen was looking at her with such concern in her eyes, but also determination, trust, and affection, a combination that Morgana wasn’t sure had ever been thrown her way before. She had always been loved and cared for, but very rarely _supported_ like this by someone so unselfish that they wanted her to succeed for her own sake.

She gave a shuddering sigh and bent her head. “Bring me my clothing,” she said, softly, because she didn’t know how to respond to this kind of empathy, but Gwen understood her nevertheless and complied, eyes shining.

Everyone at the practice courts seemed astonished when she arrived. Arthur pouted a little, but the instructor said nothing, reluctantly starting her on drills again.

*

On the next day that Morgana had no lessons, Gwen arrived looking excited. “My lady Morgana,” she said, dropping a quick curtsey. “Will you come visit the smithy with me? My father has something that he wishes to give you.”

Morgana had not met Gwen’s father before; he was a big, kindly man who had clearly passed on his affectionate eyes and easygoing manner to his daughter. “My Gwen tells me you have an aptitude for fencing,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Not really,” said Morgana frankly. “But I’m trying.”

He laughed. “Well said, my lady. I thought I might take the liberty of giving you something for that interest.”

He unwrapped a small sword from its cloth and handed it to her gently. It was light and easy in her hand, and she waved it experimentally.

“I made it special,” Tom said, beaming at the look on her face.

“It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “But I’m not allowed to use a proper sword yet, only a wooden one. And I don’t think the king would approve.”

“Perhaps you can practice with it on your own, then,” he said. “An incentive for improvement until you reach that level in your lessons.”

“And forgive me saying so, my lady, but his majesty need not know,” Gwen put in. Her father looked at her with a frown, but she smiled at Morgana, reassuring. “The gift is for you, not the king.”

Morgana gripped the sword tighter as she thanked them.

It was ample incentive, and it provided her with chances to practice in her chambers as often as she wanted. Morgana had memorized the main drills by now and although there was no one to fight against, she could teach her body to remember the strokes and stances, and she could continue to build up her strength with the cold steel in her hand. She had to be careful of hiding her further practice from anyone else, but Gwen liked to watch her when she went through her exercises as she sewed or cleaned.

Sparring with Arthur became a weekly ritual. She still lost, but she was undoubtedly improving, and even her teacher looked mildly impressed from time to time. As time passed her arms and legs became taut with the growth of new muscles, and Gwen had to begin letting out the sleeves and hems of her frocks.

Some days, when Morgana’s other lessons were not taking up her time and Gwen had less work in the castle, they roamed through the market, or visited Tom to watch him at his craft, or wandered outside the castle walls to enjoy the forest. Gwen was such easy company, friendly and talkative, but she was also smart, sympathetic, and in many ways strong. Morgana found herself looking up to her maid as much as anything else. Perhaps it was not proper, to have such a high regard for someone of a lower station, but Morgana could not bring herself to care.

She had never had a friend before. She still wasn’t sure if it was the right word for the situation, but a small part of her hoped that it was.

*

After three months of training, three months of exhausting lessons and even more practice in her chambers, with Gwen’s admiration and encouragement, Morgana won her first sparring session.

Later, when she thought back on it, she couldn’t quite remember exactly what had happened differently. She had used no special flourish or trick to help her, only the confidence and force that came with thrusts and parries repeated thousands of times. When she disarmed Arthur and held the rough wooden point to his throat, he looked completely shocked, turning red with anger and embarrassment.

“Do you yield, sire?” she panted.

At the words his face stiffened and he stood up a little straighter; for the first time Morgana saw him not as a threatening enemy on the battlefield, nor an impudent brat who took pleasure in teasing and humiliating her, but just as a boy who was maybe a little more like her than she had realized. He said, “Yes, my lady,” in his young, high voice, and she wondered how difficult it must be, as a prince and a future warrior, to submit to her.

She stuck out her hand on impulse and after a moment of surprised hesitation he took it. That could have been a victory all in itself.

Later that afternoon, Arthur came to tell her that Uther wanted to see her. It was the first time that Arthur had been to her room, and he stood awkwardly in the doorway as she put her shoes on. “Good job today,” he said after a moment, his voice stilted.

“You’re not going to tell me now that you let me win, are you?” Morgana said skeptically, but when he shot her a furious look, she let her mouth curve just slightly into a smile.

He frowned. “Well, I did,” he pronounced unconvincingly.

“We’ll see next week,” she said, grinning outright, and Arthur turned a little pink as she swept out past him.

She expected Uther to be stern once more, perhaps even upset at her victory – since allowing her the lessons he had never brought them up, but she knew there was no other reason he could be calling her now. She braced herself when entering the courtroom but instead of being upset, the king looked – proud, and just a little bit sad.

“I have lost so many people in my life,” he said after a moment. Morgana blinked. This was nothing like she had anticipated. “People that I have loved and respected dearly. You come to wonder if it is something you will be accustomed to, but it never is.”

He turned to her, grave but somehow more vulnerable than Morgana had seen him. “You are so much like your father. I didn’t realize it at first, but I should have. You have his eyes, of course, but also his fiery willpower. It is – admirable.”

The same words that Gwen had used, only said with a small measure of resignation instead of open compassion. Still, the respect in his voice and the way he spoke to her, almost confiding, gave her more of a connection than Morgana had ever expected with Uther.

“Thank you, your majesty,” she said. The itch of solitude was slowly wearing away.

*

Gwen was in her chambers when she returned, even though her chores were finished and it was the time she usually took to return home for supper. But she had not seen Morgana since the lesson that afternoon, and she had clearly heard the news because her eyes lit up when Morgana entered.

“You did it, my lady!” she said, coming forward with a bright smile.

“Thanks to you. I couldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“Oh nonsense, my lady, you did it all on your own,” Gwen replied, flustered.

Morgana shook her head. “Can’t – can’t you call me by my name?” she said, suddenly feeling shy.

Gwen looked at her for a moment, then said softly, “I’ll try – Morgana.”

Morgana smiled and on impulse she flung her arms around Gwen, who stumbled, laughing, and hugged her back. Yes, Morgana thought, this had to be what you could call a friend, and she put her head on Gwen’s shoulder.

And that was how it always went. Morgana stayed strong and fierce in the eyes of the world, challenging everything and making her own way for the things she wanted – but in her hidden moments of weakness and doubt, it was Gwen who was there to catch her when she fell.


	3. Chapter 3

Gwen was beginning to suspect that they were lost.

“We are _not lost_,” Merlin insisted when Arthur brought it up. “We’re just a little…confused about our destination.”

“You say ‘we’ as if the rest of us have any say in the matter, Merlin,” said Arthur irritably.

They had ridden as long as they could the night before and camped out when it was too dark. Gwen spent the night tossing fitfully, despite her exhaustion, and she suspected that Arthur had as well. They started again quite early and had been traveling for another few hours before Merlin’s face had become pinched and puzzled. Gwen suspected that the trail was getting colder for his senses, both as time went on and as the sorcerers widened the distance between them.

Merlin ignored Arthur. He was fidgeting, glancing down at his palms and rubbing them together somewhat but clearly not succeeding.

Arthur looked at him, frowning, and gave a huff of frustration. “Well, if we’re just waiting around, I’m going to relieve myself.”

“What is it?” Gwen asked when the prince seemed out of earshot.

“The spell is wearing off,” said Merlin worriedly. “It’s too simple a spell to last very long. But I can’t expend any more energy on a far-reaching search when Arthur is around.”

“He’s gone now. You can do something quickly.”

Merlin looked hesitant even as he nodded. He slid off his horse and closed his eyes, then began to speak, his voice low, the incantation smooth and even. As he continued, he reached out to put a hand on the trunk of a nearby tree, steadying himself, and Gwen looked on in worry, getting down herself to approach him. His voice rose in intensity and when Gwen reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, he was warm and trembling.

As Merlin finished the spell, his eyes blinked open, flashing in an eerie golden glow. For an instant the air around seemed to almost _shimmer_, and when his eyes returned to their normal blue, he opened his mouth in surprise before collapsing at Gwen’s feet.

“Merlin!” she cried.

He was unconscious, breathing shallowly. She cradled his head on her lap.

Arthur was just returning to their spot and rushed forward at the sound. “What happened?” He bent over Merlin, checking his heartbeat.

“He – he said he was very tired and wanted to sit for a moment, and then he just fainted.”

“I think he’s alright otherwise - he must not have slept properly, the idiot,” said Arthur, shaking his head. “He should have said something earlier.”

“He’s Merlin,” Gwen pointed out.

Arthur snorted. “True.”

Gwen sat silently while Arthur walked around restlessly, trying to pretend that he was merely bored, not worried. “Why don’t you take a nap?” he suggested. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Gwen was tired – exhausted – but she could not imagine sleeping now. There was a nervous, sickly energy that bubbled low in her stomach, and she sat in contemplation, hugging her knees and feeling suddenly much younger. There was always so much worry inside of her, fear for the people that she cared about, but lately it had been reserved for Merlin, the prince, and very rarely for herself – never for Morgana. No matter how much Morgana challenged Uther, it had never come to the point where she was in this much danger. Now Gwen didn’t know how to think about it.

She didn’t know what the sorcerers wanted with Morgana or what they would do to get it, and the uncertainty ate away inside of Gwen because for anything serious to happen to Morgana was – unthinkable. She closed her eyes, but even there she could not escape from the anxiety and images that kept appearing unbidden in her mind.

“Thank you sire, I’ll be fine,” she said, and Arthur continued to pace.

Merlin awoke about twenty minutes later. “Good morning, Merlin,” said the prince, sarcasm hiding his concern. “Had a nice rest?”

“Yes, thank you, sire,” said Merlin, his voice croaking.

Arthur offered Merlin water, frowning down at him, and after a few minutes Merlin stood back up. “I do remember where we’re going now,” Merlin told them, swaying a little on his feet but looking resolute. “I think I was so tired and distracted that I forgot.”

Arthur pursed his lips and glanced back at Gwen. “Well, what are we waiting for, then?”

They set off again, Merlin confident in the lead, rushing even more than before.

*

The sorcerers traveled more slowly than Morgana would have expected, now that she was conscious to see the journey; one of the horses had picked up a stone and they had to accommodate his speed. It was late afternoon by the time they reached the clearing that had haunted Morgana’s dreams. Looking around, she could see that the trees surrounded them in a perfectly formed circle, although there was no sign of any kind of plant life within the clearing. The stone table stood directly in the center, gleaming almost unnaturally in the sunlight. They halted and the sorcerers dismounted, beginning to set up the clearing to be ready for whatever spell they would cast.

Once again, Brogan helped her down from the horse. As he led her over to the table she considered him; he looked haggard and anxious, and despite what he was doing to her, Morgana felt almost sorry for him.

“You said – there is a storm coming,” she said abruptly. She had not spoken to anyone all day, let alone him. “What did you mean?”

Brogan was silent. “We do not know,” he said finally. Morgana believed him from the doubt in his eyes. “All we have seen is that there is a foreboding in the air. Something terrible is coming, a force that will split Albion down its center. There will be bloodshed and destruction. But the force may, if we are fortunate, be on the side of magic. And if - _when_ it comes down to a fight between sorcery and the feeble forces of men, we must be ready to obliterate them from the earth.”

“What of all the innocent people who will be killed along the way?” Morgana’s voice shook, her pity draining away.

“It will be retribution for all that we have suffered,” Brogan said harshly. “All of those who stood by while we have been persecuted will know what it means to be afraid.”

The sick feeling inside Morgana grew at the words – not only from their meaning and their implications for the future, but also for the way they echoed uncontrollably in her mind. Despite herself, she could understand the desire for revenge; she had tasted a hint of it on her tongue and sometimes, she still wished she had given in.

But that was something she had to change – not for herself, or even for those who died by vengeance, but for everyone else who had to suffer a world of violence ruled more by emotion than justice.

“And if I refuse to tell you about my dreams?”

Brogan gestured. “That is why we are here. Besides, we are aware that you do not yet have the knowledge to interpret these prophecies. While you are here, we will see what your mind’s eye sees as you dream.”

Brogan hauled her roughly over to the table. She was tied down with even stronger cords, fighting all the while. Even besides the consequences of the dreams and the future, Morgana was terrified of the spell. She did not know what she feared more: the unknown ritual and circle of magic, or the prospect of repeating the most terrible nightmares she had ever had. She knew that these dreams would still foretell nothing specific, nothing but intense, unconquerable fear. If there was a way to convince the sorcerers that they didn’t want the future, she would have done it, not only for her own pain but because it was possible that some prophecies should never be made.

Brogan over her with a knife, his sleeve falling away to show the patterns on his arm as he drew the blade along the skin at her neck. She hissed in pain as it cut her. The sorcerer used with a tiny vial to collect merely a few drops of blood, whispering, “It’ll be worse if you struggle,” even though she knew it was too late for anything to be worse.

She couldn’t see what the sorcerers were doing but she heard when they began to chant all around her, the foreign words filling her until she was trembling, the stone hard and cold underneath her body. Her mind felt it less; everything blurred at the edges and kept darkening almost imperceptibly as the chanting rose and swept over her, and suddenly she was plunged into her dream.

It was undoubtedly the same dream, the same inescapable darkness that suffocated her, but her perspective was different. She knew that she was somehow both conscious and dreaming at the same time, and that the sorcerers could, through her blood, see everything that she saw. It didn’t diffuse the fear, only made it seem more real but still undefined.

Dark, dark, dark, and _fear_. She was probably screaming, she couldn’t tell, and it was the same as before except that something in the back of her mind told her that it wasn’t. There was something in the darkness that hadn’t been there before, or perhaps it had and she could only now sense it while crossing between dreams and reality, but it was a shape, looming and grand, but also insidious and creeping, and shrouded still in that which she could not see, and now she was most certainly screaming –

And just as suddenly she was awake, gasping for breath. Her mind was still swimming, and it took her a moment to realize that there was noise all around her, yelling and hoof beats and the unmistakable clash of steel against steel.

*

Merlin not only seemed to know where he was going, but rode ahead with such single-minded intent that Gwen dared not ask questions. He still seemed exhausted and Arthur kept a wary eye on him, leaving Gwen to fret inside herself.

She was barely paying attention to their surroundings when Merlin suddenly halted. “Do you hear that?” he said, his voice low.

Straining her ears, Gwen could make out the sound of steady chanting. The fact that they were so close was a bare consolation. “They’re doing something to her – we need to go,” she said urgently.

“We can’t just rush in there and face _sorcerers_ without at least the element of surprise,” Arthur pointed out.

Gwen turned to Merlin and was shocked to see that he had gone completely white. “I don’t think we have any choice,” he said oddly. “In a few minutes it might be too late.”

Arthur looked between them, suspicious, but he gave a tight nod and drew his sword.

They charged into the nearby clearing, startling the four men who were gathered around the stone table where Morgana was strapped, writhing beneath the ropes. The sorcerers had clearly been too exhausted to set up any kind of warning or defense spells. Arthur slew one before they had any opportunity to react.

The others whipped around in surprise. “The prince!” shouted their leader, the mark of blue ink snaking down his arm.

The others grimaced and raised their staffs to fight back. One of them aimed at Gwen and a beam of light shot out towards her as she bore down on him.

Being weak, the sorcerer’s blast was a force of energy without any heat. Still, Gwen was thrown off her horse and landed on the ground, but she was able to roll to keep from being hurt. The sorcerer seemed to be preparing for another blast. She rushed to him, sword raised, but another smaller blow knocked the blade from her hand, and she looked around in surprise.

The sorcerer barely had time to grin, let alone to fire at her again, before she had grabbed his arm, forcing him around in a quick, agile movement. Thrusting all her weight and force into the motion, she flipped him, and he landed on his back with a painful crash. She managed to grab her sword from the ground and stab him without thinking about it.

Gwen stood, breathing heavily. She had killed before, but it still made her sick to her stomach, especially how easily it came to her when she was angry and scared.

Arthur had managed to disarm another one of his staff and was engaged in a swordfight while Merlin struggled against the last. Gwen hesitated between helping them, but a sound of pain from the figure on the table had her running over.

“Morgana,” she gasped, slashing the bonds with her knife.

“Gwen?” said Morgana, almost wonderingly. Gwen helped her sit up, supporting her weight as she said, “The spell – it made me dream…”

A cry came from Merlin. “_Arthur_!”

Gwen and Morgana whipped around. Merlin had killed his foe – probably with the help of some subtle sorcery, Gwen thought – but Arthur’s opponent had regained his staff and was using it to fire blasts at Arthur that he was trying to dodge and duck.

Gwen began to rush forward but Morgana rose to grasp her arm, yelling, “Merlin! Do something!” in a panicked voice, because sooner or later the sorcerer would hit Arthur, and then –

Within an instant Merlin’s eyes flashed, and the staff flew out of the sorcerer’s hand, whipping around in the air until it smashed into the sorcerer’s head. He dropped like a stone and Merlin rushed forward to finish him off.

For a moment they all stood, staring at the unlikely battlefield around them. Merlin pulled the blade out and wiped the edge on the grass with shaking hands, not looking up.

Gwen’s breath was caught in her throat as well, watching Arthur stand up, his gaze trained on Merlin’s.   
This was…well. She remembered Arthur’s reaction to sorcery in Ealdor, the shocked, furious look that had blazed from his face – not only at the use of magic but at the idea that someone he knew, liked, trusted was in some way complicit. After all, Gwen’s fear and resentment of sorcery had come from the tainted history of incidental uses of magic in her past, and even that had been difficult to overcome. Arthur’s anger, instead, was fueled by the rigid principles that had defined his upbringing, coupled with the princely selfishness that made him view any such betrayal as utterly personal. It was a dangerous combination.

But though Arthur looked strained and upset, there was only a little anger in his expression, tempered by shades of resignation. Gwen could see the pieces falling into place in his mind, as they had for her.

Arthur stared at Merlin for another tense, silent moment, clearly having lost the battle with himself but not knowing what to do with the defeat that must be turning his world on its axis.

Finally he swallowed, once, and spoke, his voice quiet but uneven. “Good thing his staff – _fell_ – that way. Otherwise we’d all be dead.”

“Yes, sire,” said Merlin softly.

“Right,” Arthur spat, “right,” and he turned as if he couldn’t bear any more. He stalked further into the woods, his back hunched and his sword still swinging stiffly in his hand.

Merlin exhaled, shuddering, and even Gwen was finding it easier to breathe. This must be acceptance, then: an alliance with her friends, trusting their words more than any dogma laid upon the kingdom with such a heavy, brutal hand. Arthur cared that way too, and he knew it.

Morgana opened her mouth to call out after Arthur, but Merlin stopped her. “I’ll go,” he said, the color flushing back into his pale face. “I owe him – well. You should rest. I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

He shook his head and looked at Gwen, hesitating for a moment, then turned back to Morgana. “I don’t think Arthur will be asking any questions now about why you were captured,” he told her carefully. “And you know that he would never forgive you that. But you owe Gwen the truth.”

“There’s quite a bit of that going around,” Morgana said, her voice clipped and imperious, but she looked down, nodding. Her eyes refused to meet Gwen’s, sending another foreboding flicker through her, another shiver of apprehension. The truth about _what_? Gwen didn’t know how many more revelations she could take, and this – this was Morgana. Gwen had found out the secrets of her dreams and thought that was enough of a shock, but clearly, from Merlin’s voice, there was something worse.

She couldn’t think of this now. “First, let’s get you rested, my lady. When was the last time you ate?”

Morgana watched her with a strange look in her eyes. “You look after me so well,” she murmured, ignoring the question. “You came after me –”

“We all did – of course we did! Did you think we wouldn’t?”

“No, but…Gwen.” Morgana shook her head. “Merlin’s right, there are things I _must_ tell you.”

“You should eat –”

“I will be _fine_. Please sit, Gwen.”

Her protective feelings kept her standing, though they were from instinct as much as anything. And that was the real problem, of course: in recent months, not to mention the past few _days_, Gwen’s world had shifted under her feet and thrown her into confusion, but she tried to deal with it in the same way she always had. It didn’t seem to work quite as well as she had hoped.

She had thought Morgana was a constant, too, but she could not be sure of even that anymore. She sat.

*

“I was kidnapped not merely for revenge by Tauren’s men, and not even because of my dreams, but also because of the stone that I took from Tauren,” Morgana began.

“I know,” Gwen said, surprising her.

“How?”

“I saw him.” Gwen hung her head. “I saw him take you, but at the time I had no idea what to do.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” said Morgana softly.

“You don’t know how helpless I felt, not only while he was there but afterwards, when I realized –”

“Gwen, you mustn’t feel bad about this, _please_. The fault is all mine, for everything.”

“Morgana, if this is about your dreams – I know, Merlin and Gaius told me, and it’s –”

“_No_, Gwen, it’s not only that, I – I tried to have Uther killed,” said Morgana abruptly, turning away. “After – your father, Gwen, I found Tauren and made a deal with him to help him commit regicide, and I lured Uther out to visit my father’s grave with me. And I was so close to going through with it, but when it came to the time, he spoke to me about his wrongdoings and I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”

She glanced up, and the look on Gwen’s face was ashen. “You – why?” Gwen managed in a whisper.

“He’s caused us so much grief, all of us, especially you – I just couldn’t watch that happen, and it made me – reckless.”

“Reckless,” Gwen repeated, “is that what you call it.”

“Angry,” Morgana said, “furious, reckless, all those things. Gwen, I didn’t care, I needed to help you –”

“How in the world could that _help_ me?”

The shaking in Gwen’s voice was too much to handle, and Morgana had to close her eyes for a moment to steady herself because if she didn’t, she would reach out, she would absolutely have to touch Gwen and Gwen would recoil and that would be worse than unbearable. She remembered Uther at her father’s grave, asking for her friendship and counsel because it was she who kept him in check, and somewhere inside of her she knew that it was Gwen who kept _her_ grounded: her anchor, the tie that Morgana pulled at in desperation but Gwen refused to sever.

Except that this could snap it – break Gwen’s trust in her not as a friend but as a human being, and Gwen, unlike Morgana and Arthur, held so much more stake in a person’s goodness than their loyalty. That was what she loved about Gwen.

And somehow Morgana had thought she was being good by being loyal and helping in the way she understood. She realized now that instead of taking away someone else’s life for Gwen, she should have given some of herself up, the way Gwen had done for her all those years ago and all these years since. Morgana had kept herself apart, both by trying to kill Uther and by covering it up, and that was the worst thing she could have done.

“I am so sorry, Gwen,” she whispered.

“For what? Trying to kill him, or for failing?”

“Both.” It was the simplest answer she could give.

Gwen shook her head, turning away. “I don’t – I don’t know what to say to this, what to do. I can’t –”

“Gwen –”

“_No_, my lady. You should – rest. We have a long way to go and you’ve been through so much,” said Gwen flatly.

Morgana could barely stand it, but at the same time a wave of exhaustion washed over her, for this, for everything. She gave a weak nod, making a motion to lie on the table, and Gwen moved reflexively to fetch a bedroll from a horse. She brought it back and helped Morgana settle in, smoothing her dress with gentle hands even as she refused to look Morgana in the eye.

Gwen shook her awake some time later. “Merlin’s found a town nearby where we can spend the night,” she said. Morgana couldn’t make out anything from Gwen’s expression.

At the town, Arthur traded in some game that they had hunted, along with his name, for two rooms in a wayfarers’ house. He and Merlin kept giving her curious glances, but there was so much tension between all of them that they barely spoke to each other. After a near-silent supper, Gwen helped Morgana ready herself for bed – she had, of course, packed one of Morgana’s nightshifts in her bag, because Gwen thought of _everything_ \- but as soon as Morgana was lying down, she turned for the door.

“Gwen –”

“I’ll sleep in the barn.” She closed the door, leaving Morgana lonelier than ever.

This time, Morgana lay awake, uneasy from the prospective of dreaming again and sick with regret. She didn’t know if she could do without Gwen. As a friend, as a confidante, as the secret Morgana refused to acknowledge: even if everything between them had changed over the years, Morgana couldn’t take this kind of revolution for the worst.

She was half delirious from the thoughts swirling around in her mind when the door opened again. Morgana’s breath caught in her throat as Gwen entered quietly, a candle in hand.

Morgana sat up. Gwen looked at her, closing her eyes for a brief moment, then set the candle down on the side table and closed the door.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, soft.

Morgana swallowed. “Nor I.”

“Morgana,” said Gwen, moving forward, and Morgana ached at the note of pain in her tone, “I – I don’t think I could have lived with myself if you had done that on my behalf. For the king, or for you.”

“None of this can lie on your shoulders, Gwen, it was my choice,” said Morgana. “And – I’ve taken lives before, you know that.”

“In the heat of battle, yes, but cold-blooded murder? And for someone you love and respect? No, Morgana, I could not live with that. I can’t bear the responsibility of you tainting yourself, risking your life for me.”

That – that wasn’t it at _all_, because Morgana had no fears for herself, would have and should have given everything to Gwen – just not in the way she had tried, because it was too horrendous. But the drive that she had to sacrifice herself would not go away, no matter Gwen tried to insist otherwise.

“Then,” said Morgana, her voice strangled but resolved, “I’m not sure what you’re to do. Because I can promise not to kill for you unless absolutely necessary, but risking myself – Gwen. I don’t think I could stop.”

Gwen made a desperate noise, and a sharp sting of desire crystallized in Morgana’s stomach, goading her on. They stood for a moment, looking at each other, and Morgana didn’t know what to do with this change, this new tie that entwined them except to examine it and see that it was almost the same connection as before, only brutally honest and immediate. Morgana took a shuddering breath, shattering the harsh silence, and suddenly Gwen was _right there_, intoxicatingly close.

“You _shouldn’t_,” said Gwen, helpless, and kissed her.

Morgana gasped into her mouth and kissed back, reaching out for Gwen because they were safe, all of them, and Gwen was still here with her despite everything that should have had her running far away, and this was something Morgana had not let herself admit she wanted.

She twined her fingers into the fabric at Gwen’s waist, drawing her closer in for warmth and reassurance and the feel of their bodies pressed together, but – she could feel Gwen trembling against her, and she realized that tears were streaming down Gwen’s face.

She started back. “Gwen! What is it?” she said, alarmed, cupping Gwen’s face in her hands.

“Nothing, nothing, my lady, it’s alright, you need –” Gwen tried to draw her back in, but her throat caught on a sob.

“_Gwen_,” said Morgana, thumbing at her tears, “It’s not nothing and it’s not alright, and what I need doesn’t matter, and after all this you really cannot call me _my lady_.”

Gwen gave a choked laugh and closed her eyes, shuddering. “It’s – it’s everything, this week, this month, our _lives_, Morgana. Everything is changing. I think I feel frightened all the time.”

Morgana felt a twinge of dismay at the words, because there was more coming, more that Gwen would have to fear for herself and for all of them, and Morgana didn’t want to be the one to break that to her.

But that could wait for a better time.

“Yet you’re still the bravest person I know,” she said softly.

“Me? But – ”

Morgana put a finger to her lips. “Yes, you, and don’t deny it. You taught me what bravery is. Gwen, no matter what is transformed in our lives, sometimes everything returns to what it was before – and if not, it was you who taught me not to give up. That is true courage.”

Gwen’s eyes were trained down, still uncertain. “Besides,” Morgana continued, trying not to feel anxious, “not all change is bad, is it?”

It took a moment, but when Gwen looked up again, she was smiling with fond exasperation. “Mor-gana,” she chided, and tilted forward to lean their brows together, her breath skating over Morgana’s lips. “Just do promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t disappear like that again.”

Morgana could not help but laugh, closing her eyes as the bottom of her stomach dropped out. “I’ll try,” she said, and tilted her mouth forward to meet Gwen’s again.

This time Gwen’s lips were soft but insistent, matching Morgana for strength and fire, and her hands came up to slide through Morgana’s hair. They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until she broke away to trail her mouth down the smooth expanse of Gwen’s neck, and Gwen’s fingers tightened on her hair.

“What do you want?” she asked, pulling Gwen closer as her breath hitched.

“Anything. Everything. _You_,” Gwen managed.

And maybe at one time that had been too much for Morgana to give, but those days were over. “I think I can promise that you that.”

Morgana drew her back further into the bed, unfastening the clasps at the back of Gwen’s dress until she was able to tug it off from the top. Gwen kissed her again, sweetly, before moving to pull the frock off all the way, tossing it to the ground. Morgana took a moment to admire her body – Gwen was beautiful, there was no doubt of that, but it was another feeling that she rarely let herself acknowledge, and it felt like being granted a forbidden freedom to see her like this.

But Gwen made an impatient noise and darted forward, hair falling in soft tendrils around her face, hands working urgently on Morgana’s shift until there was nothing between them but heat and smooth skin.

Gwen leaned in again towards her mouth but Morgana stopped her, a hand on her neck, stroking at Gwen’s jaw. “Let me,” she whispered, laying Gwen back onto the coarse sheets.

She made her way down Gwen’s body, mapping every perfect ridge and curve with her mouth. She kissed wetly at the spot between Gwen’s breasts, brushing fingers over her ribs, before returning to give an experimental flick of her tongue around a nipple. Gwen arched beneath her and Morgana had never felt so alive, clasping her hands around Gwen’s waist to claim her and keep her and never let her go.

She nipped and sucked and licked until Gwen was reduced to soft, incoherent moans that had Morgana in danger of falling apart herself, and when Gwen breathed out, “_Morgana_,” the slightest hint of pleading in her voice, she had no choice but to capture Gwen’s lips with her own again, kissing her as she slipped a hand between her legs. Gwen trembled as she stroked, gentle at first and then more quickly and firmly, fingers wet and circling around the spot that she knew would drive Gwen crazy, until Gwen let out a cry and her entire body shuddered beneath Morgana’s.

They lay for some moments, Gwen cupping Morgana’s face in one hand and stroking as she regained her breath. “Morgana,” she murmured once more, such relief and love in her voice that Morgana knew she, too, had been claimed and kept by Gwen; she probably had been for years, but now it had finally been acknowledged and brought forth, and Morgana could not be happier at being taken apart and put back together this way as she laughed and sighed and lost herself once more in Gwen’s mouth.

*

Morgana dreamt again.

This time Gwen was right there to catch it, curled up against her, and even before Morgana’s eyes flew open Gwen could feel the change in Morgana’s body. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” she soothed, as always, holding Morgana close to her while she tried to catch her breath and keep the tears reined in.

“I thought I was comforting you now,” Morgana whispered when she had calmed down somewhat.

Gwen smiled. “I’m not sure it works like that.”

“I wish it did.” Morgana ran her fingers down the side of Gwen’s face, causing a flutter within Gwen that she didn’t know if she’d ever become used to. “Thank you.”

“Would you like to tell me about it again?”

Morgana gave a sigh, turning her face into Gwen’s neck. “Yes, I should. But…Arthur and Merlin need to know as well. This may affect all of us.”

“I’ll fetch them, then.”

“There’s no need, we can wait until morning.”

“Morgana, you’re trembling. Let us take on some of that burden,” Gwen pressed, and Morgana let her.

The same weary, frightened look remained on her face as she related her story, the old nightmares dredged up along with the kidnapping, the spell, and the same fears come anew. Merlin sat, watching her with concern, while Arthur paced around the room. His only reaction to the revelation of Morgana’s dreams was to give an undignified snort.

Gwen grew more and more anxious as she listened, for Morgana and herself and all of them. This was the price of having a destiny, and even if Gwen did not have one herself, she was tied up enough with the others – her _friends_ – to even think of being separate. She could not even contemplate it. But the fear was indeed a burden, and sharing it around only made her terrified for all of them equally, for Camelot and the unknown.

When Morgana finished, Arthur finally stopped moving, bracing his arms on the back of Merlin’s chair. “I don’t even know what to say to all of this,” he admitted.

Morgana laughed, almost deprecating. “Really, Arthur, that’s very helpful.” Arthur scowled at her, which at least settled something within Gwen, and the familiarity of their bickering seemed to make the situation less misty and terrifying. There were always some things that Gwen could depend on.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said. “I mean, I don’t know either, of course, and I don’t pretend to be above my station, and –”

“Gwen,” said Morgana, smiling, “don’t be ridiculous.”

“Right. I just meant that as long as we…”

She did not know how to say the words, to describe her trust in all of them, in their abilities and their caring and their loyalties. Even after everything, the disappointments and the lies, she could think of no way that her trust would be lost.

Gwen gestured to the three of them. “We will find an answer,” she said. “I know it.”

Arthur had that look on his face that he got whenever Gwen praised him, as if he didn’t know quite whether he lived up to her words. Merlin was watching Arthur, but he gave a slow nod to Gwen. She knew they must feel the same.

And Morgana – Morgana was still smiling at her, that smile that she had known for years and now meant so much more. She reached out to grasp Gwen’s hand under the table, twining their fingers together. “I believe you,” she said, soft, and Gwen held on tight.


End file.
